Not With a Bang
by Seneschal
Summary: This is the way the world ends.


_This is the way the world ends._

_This is the way the world ends._

_This is the way the world ends,_

_Not with a bang, but a whimper._

_-T.S. Elliot_

_

* * *

_

At the end of it all, there were just two.

Somewhere along the way, and Ironhide was sure that if he bothered to really examine his recollections of those last few hours, he'd know exactly what, something had gone wrong. There was no question of that: everything had been shot to hell, because even after Sam somehow controlled the Matrix and brought Prime back to life and returned to life himself, the Decepticons had still won. The Fallen had been able to activate the Sun Harvester.

The moment the sun stopped shining, eight minutes after the Harvester's work was finished, everyone knew it was over. Suddenly the only light was from stars and explosions and in the brief flashes while fighting he'd seen things he wished he hadn't.

Ratchet, who had always been more a medical officer than a warrior, had been the first to go. He broke communications with a tinny shriek as he was held down, and though he fought hard trying to get up, to force away the gun—a bright flash and resounding retort, and suddenly Ratchet was gone, laying limp and more still than Ironhide had ever seen him.

Fighting a surge of grief, he felt more than heard Prime's keening, and knew the leader felt the death. Roaring, Ironhide charged at the slagger who'd offlined Ratchet, but of course, it was too late.

The youngest went next; Bumblebee, protecting the humans. It was sparkbreakingly sudden; from behind, Starscream barreled out of the sky and hit him, picked the scout up and carried him high—higher—dropped him and dove, laughing cruelly, and with a high scream Bee's spark chamber was crushed between the ground and Starscream's foot.

Prime took Starscream out, enraged by the loss of his sparkling. But that was his downfall; before Ironhide could get away from the Decepticons he was fighting, Megatron and the Fallen were on Optimus. It wasn't heroic. It wasn't brave. It was just brutal, and Ironhide realized then that he was alone. He realized, too, that the only person left alive—the humans!

But he couldn't find most of the NEST team. Just some bloody smears on the ground. Epps was just—gone. He couldn't even find the tracker that all of the NEST team wore. Will—Ironhide fought a wail when he found his human friend. Dead. He found the top half, anyways. But there was one life signature—Samuel Witwicky.

Ironhide couldn't find it in himself to blame the boy. And he knew that the day was lost. He grabbed the boy and fled, transforming around the boy. Escaping was difficult, but the Decepticons clearly weren't concerned about letting one lone Autobot escape—not now that their leader was gone.

That night Ironhide and Sam had huddled together in a large pile of debris of some kind—rocks, large enough to hide even Ironhide. It was a quiet night, both grief-stricken, but they took comfort in one another's presence.

Over the next several weeks, they spoke little, but there wasn't much to say. Just a constant run-hide-fight-survive cycle that was taking a toll on the both of them. One day, Ironhide couldn't find the internet. Shortly thereafter, he could not access phone lines, satellites, or even find radio stations. There was just silence; no more reports of giant robots attacking, no more reports of mass panic and entire cities destroyed. Just silence.

Time passed in a haze, always dark now because the sun was gone.

In a strange way, the two of them began to rely on each other, and over the months, they developed something not unlike a friendship or partnership, but far deeper.

Over time, Ironhide gradually began to realize that with no sun, there could be no plant growth, and without plants, animals died. Ironhide could survive for a great many more years even without any energon. But organic creatures could not survive without food. Sam could not survive without food.

Taking the time to really look at the boy, Ironhide had to admit that he'd lost weight. The boy looked bad, but they both did, truly. Ironhide was covered with a myriad of injuries, dents and scrapes and one truly painful slash down his side, bits of metal peeling and curling away to expose the wiring underneath. Sam had done his best to help, but he was no Ratchet. He wasn't even as good as the human girl, Mickaela, but Ironhide was thankful for his attempts, and thankful for his company.

Both of them knew what the ultimate outcome of all of this was, it was impossible not to. But they didn't speak of it. They had a plan, and were gradually making their way East. They would get to the coast and find a ship they could steal, try to get back to their base. Maybe there they could find someone still alive, and if not…well, even if not there were supplies there. They would have to send out another message to any other Autobots out there.

Months passed and the raw agony of the loss seemed to fade into something dull and throbbing and always there, but less noticeable now. Sam supposed that it was sort of like going into shock, where the agony just can't continue being so shocking and horrible anymore, simply because you've had it so long. The pain was slowly fading to numb, and Sam wondered dully if that wasn't worse than the sharp pain.

He didn't mention it to Ironhide, though, because he thought that maybe grief was different for cybertronians.

Even when you're riding an Autobot, traveling around the world takes a while when you're doing it on land, though thankfully they were no longer restrained by human speed limits. There was no need to try and blend in, anymore.

As it turned out, their hopes of finding someone at home were useless. The base had been utterly destroyed, and there was nothing left. Sam and Ironhide lingered for a few days listlessly, picking through the rubble and hoping to find something. Ironhide found their small supply of energon, and took the opportunity to refill. Sam was pleased in a way he never had been before to find that indeed, military rations were as indestructible as they were touted to be. Freeze-dried ham and green beans had never tasted so good.

They found the remains of the communications room, and with some tinkering and repairing, Ironhide was able to repair the transmitter, and he recorded a message and sent it out on a constant re-playing loop, as hidden as he could possibly keep it from the Decepticons, and left the thing there, hidden.

The two left, unwilling to stay for any longer and knowing the threat increased the longer they stayed. Over time, they learned to use guerilla tactics and made themselves a thorn in the Decepticons' sides. Years passed, the two living from supplies stolen from the Decepticons and salvaged from destroyed human settlements, but gradually, the availability of supplies dwindled. Rarely did they ever do anything truly damaging, but it was highly gratifying when, through a moment of sheer luck, Sam was able to rig an explosive with Ironhide's direction that took out half the base and killed three Decepticons.

That was the extent of their luck, though, and when they were caught finally, the retaliation nearly killed them.

They fled into the rock-studded deserts and the decepticons let them go, knowing how badly the two were injured. Finding a sheltered area with a small pool of water was an amazing reprieve, and Sam had the time to bandage his wounds and do his best to tend to Ironhide's. The mech watched his human friend in concern, seeing the way he hunched over, his breathing ragged.

Over the night, the human developed a cough, and Ironhide saw with worry that when he pulled his hands back from his mouth after coughing, they were flecked with red. Sam insisted he was alright, but Ironhide knew it to be a lie. The desert cold was harsh now in the absence of t the sun, and even with his thick clothing, Sam was shivering. Knowing nothing else to do, Ironhide gently scooped Samuel up and cradled the boy—man, now—to his chest, letting the warmth of his sparkchamber warm the boy.

Sam sighed appreciatively and leaned for the warmth, hands splayed on the warm metal of his friend's skin. He opened his eyes and looked up at Ironhide. The mech's face was turned upward and turned towards where Sam thought Cybertron might have been."Hey…'Hide?" The large, stern face turned down to regard the human, softly glowing blue eyes concerned. "Yes, Sam?"

The human began to reply but stopped to cough and took a moment before he met the mech's optics again. "You think that…things without sparks…you think they go the same place Cybertrons go, when they die? You think…maybe they can go together?"

It hurt Ironhide to hear Sam asking that, especially when his monitors constantly sung warnings of how low the human's blood pressure was, how his body temperature was gradually dropping and heart and respiratory rates slowing. Spark clenching, Ironhide clasped Sam closer to his chest, wanting to deny what he knew was happening. He took a long moment to reply, watching the boy's face, the familiar brown eyes. "…Yes, Sam. I believe that even those without sparks will go on to the Void, to be taken care of by Primus."

Sam smiled a little, swallowing convulsively, and Ironhide's sensors pointed out the presence of blood on his lips. On his teeth. "What…happens, then?" The human curled a hand into the small gap of two plates of armor, small fingers stroking the sensors there in a way that made Ironhide shudder a little. So small, so fragile.

Ironhide cycled air through his vents, and replied slowly. "Then, the sparks—the souls—all go to meet Primus. He loves every one of them, and seeks to take care of them, and heal the hurts that they accumulate in this world." He paused, finger slowly stroking up and down Sam's spine, and watched the boy's head sway slowly before he settled it onto Ironhide's chest, and the boy murmured, "That sounds nice…"

Ironhide took a moment, just focusing on the sound of the human's heartbeat. "It is," he said, softer than he had spoken for Anabelle, Will's daughter. "It is, Sam. There is no reason to be afraid, not there, because Primus makes sure that every spark—every soul—is taken care of. Safe, and happy, and well. And loved. It is said that in the end of all things, when there are no more sparks left to come home, Primus will shutter his optics and this world will fall to darkness."

Ironhide could see through the darkness the way Sam's eyes fluttered, falling closed and then snapping open when he realized they were closing. Gradually, the human's breathing was becoming more irregular and labored, and Ironhide rubbed his back, hoping it would help. He didn't realize he'd fallen silent on that dark note until Sam's voice, weaker than Ironhide had ever heard it and softer, hoarse, caught his attention again. "What happens…then..?"

Cycling more air through his vents to cool systems that felt too-hot with his agitation, Ironhide replied momentarily. "Then, this world will end. And, it is said, Primus will make a new world, and all of the sparks from the last will be brought again into the world, to live again."

Sam smiled a little. "What d'you…think the…world will…be like?"

Personally, Ironhide had a hard time believing any of this, but even Optimus believed it. It was told to all Sparklings, and now, Sam was nothing if not one of them. Ironhide told him, then, trying to make himself believe as much as he was trying to make Sam believe. He described how the world would be in the next cycle, how Primus would make it so that they wouldn't have to be divided like this, so that there would be another Golden Age.

Ironhide knew that Sam would die this night. Dying was like offlining; the same thing, the same permanence, just the cessation of a heartbeat and brain waves rather than a spark extinguishing and processor stopping. But it was the same thing nevertheless.

In a lull in the by now mostly one-sided conversation, Sam stirred in his arms, and Ironhide looked to the boy. He was looking up at the stars, and Ironhide saw with a start that rather than his usual brown, the boy's eyes were slowly turning the same glowing blue Ironhide had always associated with Optimus Prime. He stared, and the boy didn't seem to be looking. "Sam?"

Sam's reply came slowly, without any of the hesitance or choked tears it had had earlier. He didn't really seem to hear Ironhide so much as just have the great need to speak, to communicate, and his voice seemed somehow deeper, more...knowing. "They're coming, Ironhide. They're coming, and it will all be okay soon."

Confused, the mech drew the human closer, stroking his cheek with a fingertip. "What do you mean, Sam?" Slowly, the eerie blue eyes shifted to look at Ironhide, and he smiled a little. "You're never alone, 'Hide. Promise it'll be okay. He told me…"

Alarmed, Ironhide realized the boy was slumping, his eyes closing and vital signs dropping. The blue glow through the boy's eyelids faded away to nothing.

At the end of it all, Ironhide thought slowly, crouched there in the darkness cradling the cooling remains of a little organic boy who'd fought more bravely than many mechs Ironhide had ever known, there was only one.

There was a sudden rumbling from the sky, and Ironhide looked up, seeing balls of fire hurtling towards the earth, coming this way. Not releasing his hold on his last friend, Ironhide stood and watched, waiting calmly. These he knew would be Decepticons. They would kill him, and Ironhide thought that he was ready for it.

* * *

In the darkness on a tiny planet which had once flourished with life, in a solar system with nothing at its center but a cold, dead lump which had once been life, Primus watched as one of his last stood to greet the end. And with an enigmatic hum and a twist of gears, Primus shuttered his optics.


End file.
